It is rare that I tell fortunes. But Tyburn tree haunts your dreams, Master Hawksthorne, and it will continue to do so until you are hung there in chains, without benefit of clergy. And your death shall come as a relief to you. For every night, from now until then, you will dance on air with a hempen rope around your neck, and the jeers and catcalls of all those you have ever cared for ringing in your ears.